Double Lives (Stan and Ford Pines) (Fallout AU)(3)

”LET ME GO YOU BASTARD! I AM AN AMERICAN CITIZEN AND YOU CANNOT KEEP ME LOCKED UP HERE!” Stanley Pines grunted as he struggled on the cot he was bound to, the room empty and securely locked from the outside. Outside of the room sat a lone figure, different pieces of circuitry and various other pieces of technology scattered around his feet. The man looked exhausted, dark rungs around his eyes as his nimble fingers worked on the circuits, seemingly looking for something. The piece was tossed aside when a faint trail of smoke soon rose from it, the man sighing as he rubbed at his eyes. ”LET ME OUT!”

“I wish I could…” The man muttered, his saddened gaze transfixed on the floor. His name was Stanford Pines, and he had been forced to keep the synth in the room behind him locked up for two weeks now. They had been attacked by Raider’s on their way back to town, and Stanley had suffered a nasty blow to the head during their scuffle, but the twins prevailed in the end. However, by that evening their celebration was far from joyous, Stanley twitching slightly as he and Stanford found a small building to spend the night. It had happened in an instant, Stanley attacking the other male after realizing it wasn’t his long dead twin, the two fighting it out until Stanford managed to tie Stanley down to the only bed. Ever since then Stanford had kept a close eye over the synth, desperately trying to come up with a way to fix the other male, but to no avail. Eyes drooping with exhaustion Stanford watched as the room began to spin a bit, prompting another sigh. Spending night after night exposed to the elements was taking its toll on Stanford, but he could not afford rest, not while Stanley was not in his proper mind.

Stanford wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep, but it was well past dawn when his eyes slowly opened. His head felt like a sack of bricks when he straightened form his slumped posture against the door, reddened eyes blinking a few times as he unlocked the door to check up on Stanley. His eyes went wide when Stanford noticed the bed was empty, Stanley attacking from his left side with an angry cry. Reacting instinctively Stanford grabbed the stun baton he kept fastened to his side and smacked Stanley’s side, the electricity arching up in the air as the synth cried out in pain. Stanford grunted as one of Stanley’s flailing arms hit him with a solid right hook, the traveler seeing stars as Stanley collapsed on the floor beside him.

“Stanley?” Stanford felt a cold fear coil in the pit of his stomach as the synth’s eyes flickered a few times before the yellow light faded to darkness. “S-Stan?! Stan wake up!” Stanford shook the synth a bit harder than needed, but it seemed to do nothing at the synth before him. “No no no no!” Stanford started to hyperventilate, not seeing the faint yellow glow returning to Stanley’s eyes as he tugged at his hair. “I-I can’t lose you, I know you’re not my brother but I can’t be responsible…” Stanford’s hysterical words began to turn more into an unintelligible gibberish the more he panicked.

“Calm down will ya…?” Stanford froze at the weak voice, navy eyes looking down to see the synth looking at him with a confused look.

“D-Do you know who I am?” Stanford asked, the man beyond exhausted as Stanley nodded.

“Yea…did you force me to power down?” He asked in confusion, Stanford shaking his head as he helped Stanley up onto his feet. “All of my systems are all over the place…”

“Some of that may have been from me.” Stanford sighed, sitting down heavily on the bed as Stanley gave a look. “You seem to have activated some sort of subroutine when those Raiders from a few weeks ago attacked us. I believe the Pre-War Stanley Pines has um, been in control since then, but I believe I fixed the problem.”

“Huh…thanks.” Stanley offered a weak smile, though it quickly vanished when he noticed Stanford was swaying in his seat. “You doin’ alright there?” Before the synth could react, Stanford pitched forward, Stanley gently catching the man before he could hit the floor. “Shit!”

“M sorry…” The man slurred, Stanley gently placing the exhausted man on the bed. He could feel the heat even on the exposed metal of his hand coming from Stanford’s forehead, a frown crossing his face as Stanford weakly tried to sit back up.

“Sit down, yer sick.” Stanley said firmly, the other staring at him with a blank expression before lying back with an appreciative groan. It didn’t take Stanford long to doze off, leaving the synth relieved yet also worried. Stan didn’t know how to help anyone that was sick, sadly that was one of many things that wasn’t in the frazzled memories of a long dead man. In the few hours Stanford slept peacefully Stanley ran diagnostics, getting flashes of memoires from the last several days that made him cringe. It was no wonder that Stanford was violently ill, the synth grateful for a nearby bucket when Stanford woke hours later. The bucket wasn’t empty for long, the man groaning pitifully after emptying the contents of his stomach.

“I know it sucks right now, but it’ll be ok.” Stanley tried to soothe the best he could, the other man flopping back onto the bed with a groan. By noon Stanford was stripped down to his undershirt and boxers, the man covered in sweat despite Stanley’s best efforts to keep him cool. At the few moments he wasn’t delirious, Stanford mentioned to Stanley he most likely had the flu. The synth raided a nearby abandoned clinic for anything he could find, but sadly nothing could help the sick traveler. To Stanford the world seemed to be against him. It was hard to breathe, his stomach seemed to be on a roller-coaster, he felt as if he was in a furnace one minute, and in the artic the next.

“Ngh…S-Stanley?”

“Ford?” The synth looked up from the gun he was cleaning out, the man on the bed looking up at him with glazed over eyes.

“Y-You came back…” Stanford’s voice was hoarse from disuse, Stanley tilting his head in confusion as a relieved smile crossed over Ford’s face. “I-I thought you never would…”

“What are you talking about?” The synth was confused, getting up when Stanford seemed like he was gonna sit up. “No, you need to lie down.”

“M sorry Lee…” The man seemed to accept his fate as the synth gently pushed him down, six-fingered hand grabbing his skeletal wrist with a sigh. “Please don’t leave.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.” Stan smiled awkwardly, realizing that Ford must have been hallucinating.

“You sure?” Stanford looked almost scared at the thought, hazy blue eyes looking into his yellow ones.

“I’m sure.” Stan nodded, moving his table closer so he could continue working on the gun. Stanford seemed pleased by this, the man sweating buckets as he apologized for letting his father kick Stanley out. The synth listened to him quietly, offering words of comfort whenever Stanford seemed on the verge of crying, which was often.

“H-hey Lee?” Stanford coughed, the synth looking up from his magazine. It had been almost five days since Stanford had fallen ill, and Stan had grown used to the hallucinating male calling for him as if he was his own brother. “Can I say something?”

“Sure, always.” The synth nodded, placing his magazine to the side.

“If I could go back…back in time, I would stop Pop from kickin’ ya out.” He mumbled half-deliriously, Stan frowning lightly as Stanford curled in on himself. “I was a coward.”

“No…no you weren’t.” Stan shook his head, the synth wincing as Stanford began to cry quietly.

What was he supposed to say? He sighed and placed a comforting hand on Ford’s shoulder, the muffled sobs the only sounds as minutes ticked by.